Realism tattoo of an upside-down kitten with large eyes and striped fur, placed on a person's upper back near the shoulder blade.

Upside-down kitten on upper back

Realism · Back · Mixed · Photo

A tattoo of a kitten lying on its back with its paws raised, looking up towards the viewer with large dark eyes. The fur is rendered in soft, detailed shading in greys, browns and black, with pink and red tones along the body and blue-grey touches on the tail and paws. The design fills a rounded area across the upper back, with the subject's shoulder and hair visible at the edges of the frame.

Realism Back Kitten Cat Fur Paw Whiskers

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ovens were already ticking when Mrs Okafor's kitten rolled out from under the proving racks, belly up on the flour-dusted tiles, as if the floor had been laid down for her. I should have shooed her out. Instead I stood with the bread peel in my hand and watched her wave four grey paws at the strip lights.

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Her name was Biscuit, though nobody had told her. She had come in through the back door in the sleet the week before, a tabby the size of a glove with one ear folded like a bad page, and Dan had said we would keep her until someone claimed her. Nobody did. She had a habit of lying exactly where you were about to put your weight, and she looked up at you with those black eyes, wide and wounded, as though you were the one who had made the mess of the morning.

At half four the sky over the car park was still ink. I slid the first tray of sourdough into the deck oven, and the heat rolled out across the room. Biscuit stretched, flipped, and went after a loose strand of my hair that had come down over the peel. I laughed out loud, the first honest sound in the building since the flour lorry had failed to turn up on Tuesday.

When the bread came out at six, golden and cracked, I broke the heel off the first loaf and set it on the floor. She ate with her paws in the air, the way she did everything, and I understood she had never been upright in her life and had no plans to start. Dan came in, saw the crumbs scattered across the tiles, and shook his head. Some mornings the bakery belongs to the cat, I said. He didn't argue.